


Stumbled

by pink_autumn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Band Fic, Bottom Dean Winchester, Confused Dean, Dark, Destiel Week (Supernatural), Drugs, M/M, Pining Dean, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, confused cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:13:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pink_autumn/pseuds/pink_autumn
Summary: Dean is pushed into the world of the rich and famous when he takes on the job of marketing head for Castiel Novak's band. In a world where money is the only thing that matters and drugs are plenty, feelings are misread, hearts are broken and boys are confused.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 4





	Stumbled

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I have a lot of WIPs. But this one is already half-written. I will post one a week. I hope you guys like it.

**Dean.**

_They are a hungry sea. A sea of monsters wanting more and more out of you until you have no more to give._

Castiel’s words echo in my head like they usually do and have done. However, these words are the ones that echo most these days. My success was stumbled upon. Everyone knows it. The fans know it. The tabloids know it. The reporters know it. But I know it more than anyone else does.

There is sweat glistening on Charlie’s forehead as she keeps banging on the drums. I used to love watching her play. Now it looks rehearsed. Everything from her dangly earrings to the bandanna on her head looks rehearsed. Beside me, Benny with his lead guitar and his leather pants look rehearsed. Behind him, Gabe looks rehearsed with the painted smirk. And here I am. Anxious on the stage. Looking at the wooden floor. Pep talking myself to sing.

A new song kicks in. And I sing.

**Castiel.**

I am severely and utterly fucked. Literally and figuratively. I sigh at the ceiling as I hear Meg banging things around in my apartment. Mine, not hers. Taking away her things as she screams at me about how shitty of a boyfriend I am.

I know that. What else is new?

I look at her as she riffles through my copy of The Tempest. She knows I have a picture of hers in there. She has a bag of clothes in her arms. She’s hugging it to her chest. Ironic, she’s still wearing my shirt. Am I getting that back like she is getting her clothes back?

She storms out of the apartment and I keep staring at the ceiling. What did she expect? I’ll take her on my tour. We’d gallivant around Europe and I would kiss her under the Eifel fucking Tower? Fuck me.

I groan and turn over, lying on my stomach. My head buried in my pillow. I hope she leaves. I hope it is for real this time. Because she always seems to come back. Sticks to me like a goddamn leech. Probably because the LV bags and the limo rides don’t come when you’re dating a normal bloke.

 _Boyfriend._ She calls me her boyfriend. A shitty one at that. When did I become her boyfriend? Three months ago we were dancing at a club in Dubai. Now she is calling me her girlfriend and expecting me to take her on tour. It’s probably me, I am a magnet of fuckery.

I get up and shower. Grab whatever clothes I can get my hands on. Brush my fingers through my hair and leave the apartment. I lock the door behind me as I put on baseball hat, shove my face to the ground and get in my car to get to where my manager is right now.

I can afford a house. Hell, I can afford a dozen of them. But do I want them? Fuck no. Vanity, thankfully, is not one of my many vices. I prefer my New York apartment. Small, functional and very low-key. Protected by cameras and a guard. But still my space. Except when fucking Meg is there. Then she is poking around and cleaning and trying to _fix_ me. Fuck fixing me. Leave me broken. People pay to listen to what I have to say when I am broken. I’ve strung up all the things that have broken me into a necklace of songs and people pay to watch me choke on them.

I drive to the studio. Ask one of the interns to “grab me a coffee, will you?” He runs off looking like an angel of the lord just spoke to him. A small “Right away, Mr. Novak” uttering from his tiny mouth. _Mr. Novak._ What a shitty legacy I carry. But the fans love the name. There was an article in the press about my surname being biblical or some shit. Fuck my dad.

I walk into Crowley’s office without knocking. See a person talking to Crow with his back to me and instantly step back. My manager looks up at me and his eyes light up. Fuck me.

“Cas! Get here. I want you to meet someone.”

The person Crow was talking to looks at me. The green of his eyes startle me for a split second. I expect him to be struck. Like people usually are in my company. However, he smiles slightly and nods. Who the fuck…

“Hi.” I manage to sound bored.

“Good morning, Mr. Novak?” His greeting is a lilt. It’s a question. Is this asshole mocking me because I look like I woke up from the biggest hangover of my life? Well fuck him! He doesn’t get to judge.

“Good morning.” I reassure him that I did, indeed, have a good morning. I sit on the chair next to him in front of Crow. He extends his hand to me.

“I’m Dean. Dean Winchester. I will be handling your marketing from now on.”

I am aware of my eyebrows shooting up a little. I ignore his hand and look at Crowley. “What happened to Jody?”

Crowley frowns at me. Why is everyone fucking pissed at me today!

“She cannot come to Europe with us. Furthermore, Jody has family commitments she needs to attend to.” He is looking at me pointedly.

Oh for fuck’s sake! So what if I screwed our social media manager’s daughter once upon a time. It wasn’t as if she didn’t initiate it.

“And why him?” I raise a lazy hand to gesture at the green-eyed asshole sitting next to me.

“Because he is competent, Dean. And the only competent person willing to go to Europe at a day’s notice.”

I look at the guy next to me. I have a gut feeling this tour is going to be the most miserable time of my bloody life. I shake his hand.

The thing with being an artist is, you learn to notice the smallest of details. I notice the calluses on his fingers. He plays. I notice how rough his skin is. I notice the glint in his eyes because he knows he has won.

I leave the room swearing that I will make this dude resign himself.

The next day we are on a flight. A genius thinks that we should all post stories about what we are doing on tour on social media. I despise social media. That is common knowledge. I am pretty sure by this point that Dean Winchester is here just to fuck around with me. Is Crow punishing me for Jo?

I take pictures of my first class seats. I take pictures of the food and the coffee. Bella takes a picture of her feet near my face. Balthazar takes pictures Bella constantly. Gabe tries to take pictures that end up blurry. We all post what Dean tells us to post.

I look out of the window and stare at the clouds. I take a picture of them. I do not post it. I then realize that I have to smoke. I have smoked before on airplanes. Although, the hostess eyeing me like I am her next meal comes to me and tells me I should go to the bathroom if I need to smoke.

The insinuation in her voice is very clear. Should I wait a day before I start fucking around? Meg and I share a complicated relationship. We pose for the tabloids. She doesn’t ask me what I do. I don’t ask her what she does. Unless she thinks I am taking her to Europe. Then she throws a fit, that woman.

I smile at the hostess and get up. All of my bandmates are asleep. Bella, with her head on Balthazar’s shoulder, is snoring slightly. Crowley is almost asleep. I walk to the restroom. I open the door. I back away, something hitting me on my back and digging into my skin. The edge of a table.

The bathroom is occupied. I see a rush of brown hair and blonde hair and two heads separating from a heated kiss. I look to the ground. I look up. Brilliant green eyes. Dean. Unprofessional fucker. I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, forgetting completely that I was headed to the bathroom with the intention of fucking an air hostess.

My mouth opens, and stays open. He is not with a girl in the bathroom. An air host walks out of the bathroom. Apologizing profusely. His eyes downcast. A stream of “Mr. Novaks” rushing from his mouth. He falls silent when Dean puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Walk.”, he says. The host listens.

“You fuck men?” I ask and curse myself as to why that is the first sentence that comes out of my mouth.

Dean smiles at me. “I do,” he says, “and I thoroughly enjoy it. You just robbed me of a good time, Castiel. Better be ready to repay me somehow.”

I start, looking up at him. What the fuck.

“Excuse me?”

“I am bored. Want a drink?”

I go through an internal debate in five seconds. Is this dude trying to fuck me? Castiel Novak, notorious womanizer? I open my mouth to answer. The air hostess looking to fuck me in the bathroom comes near the bathroom, sees Dean, scowls and walks away.

Dean watches her go. He looks at me with those green fucking eyes and smirks. He draws in. I fight the urge to cringe away. Standing my ground.

“A little hypocritical, don’t you think, _Mr. Novak?”_ His voice has the same lilt it did when we first met and I watch him return to his seat. God, I hate this man.


End file.
